§ 3
Miss Maltby-Neverson, the head-mistress of the Taverners’ School, called upon Mrs. Preemby and shook her resolution a good deal. She was obviously a lady, and the school washing ran in term-time to twenty pounds a week. She was taken to see the scandalous picture and she said: “Very beautiful, I’m sure. One of the really Great Paintings in the world. Pro-foundly religious. It’s the very words of the Bible made into a picture. What do you find in it to object to, Mrs. Preemby?”
Whereupon, as if by a trick, the picture ceased to be scandalous and Mrs. Preemby was ashamed of herself. She saw now there never had been anything wrong about that picture.
Miss Maltby-Neverson said that Christina Alberta was a difficult type but a thoroughly interesting personality, a real personality. She had a great capacity for affection.
“I haven’t found that,” said Mrs. Preemby.
“It is a type I have studied,” said Miss Maltby-Neverson, simply but conclusively.
She explained that Christina Alberta was an active type. Left to herself without employment to stretch her faculties she might easily get into almost any sort of mischief. Almost any sort. Not that there was anything wrong in her essentially. It was just energy. Given good hard work and a scope for ambition, she might become a very satisfactory woman indeed—possibly even a distinguished woman.
“I’ve no use for distinguished women,” said Mrs. Preemby shortly.
“The world has,” said Miss Maltby-Neverson gently.
“I’m afraid I’m one of the old-fashioned sort,” said Mrs. Preemby.
“Christina Alberta isn’t.”
“Let the man be distinguished abroad and the woman distinguished at home,” said Mrs. Preemby. “I’m sorry to differ from you, Miss Maltby-Neverson, but one cannot help one’s opinions.”
“It depends upon ourselves,” said Miss Maltby-Neverson.
“I’m afraid I like men to rule,” said Mrs. Preemby. “Woman has her place in the world, and it isn’t man’s.”
“But I thought Mr. Preemby rather favoured the scholarship idea.”
Mrs. Preemby was baffled. “He did,” she said as though she did not see clearly what that had to do with the matter. “Give the thing a trial,” said Miss Maltby-Neverson. “After all, she may not win this scholarship.”
But Christina Alberta won it with marks to spare. She took no risks. It was a biennial scholarship which had been established by a benefactor of advanced views. It was tenable at the London School of Economics. As soon as Christina Alberta knew she had secured it she went, without consulting her mother or anyone, to a hairdresser’s and had her hair bobbed. To Mrs. Preemby this was almost a worse blow than the scholarship. She surveyed her shock-headed, handsome-nosed daughter in her short gymnastic skirts with a qualm of sincere hatred.
She wished she could make her daughter feel about herself as she felt about her. “I wish you could only see yourself,” she said with concentrated bitterness.
“Oh, I know,” said Christina Alberta.
“I suppose you’re a judgment on me,” said Mrs. Preemby.